


I Wrote Whump!Fic For a Character I Hated and Now I Care About Her and Ship My NOTP (by Fallout Boy)

by Anonymous



Series: Episode 46 Canon Divergence AU [2]
Category: The Bright Sessions (Podcast)
Genre: Comfort/Angst, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Rape Recovery, Revictimization, The Care and Keeping of Traumatized Time Travelers, Victim Blaming, listen I know this is unironic therapy fic but have you heard the show? just saying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-02-27 16:01:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13251669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: (This is a just and fitting punishment for my sins.)  Sam survives the first 24 hours with a little help from her friends.





	1. Chloe

The hospital was loud and bright and full of coughing people and crying babies. It was too cold by the doors but too hot in the corner, where Sam hid, slouched, hiding under her coat like a blanket. She clung to Chloe, terrified that every person walking through the doors of the ER would be Damien, armed with that stupid shit-eating grin and a loaded gun. After the third hoodie scare left Sam on the verge of flickering out of existence, Chloe finally spoke to the receptionist.

“Oh, yes! You should have been seated in a separate waiting area anyway. Bring your friend and come with me.”

They followed the receptionist, only to find the private waiting area closed for construction. The receptionist seated them in a hallway, or attempted to, anyway. Sam ignored the hard metal folding chair and chose to pace near the wall instead. People kept rushing by, pushing beds and carts and shouting orders. Someone in a nearby room was throwing up every few minutes.

“Can we just leave?” Sam asked Chloe, only half joking. Maybe only a quarter joking.

“It’ll be just as bad anywhere we go,” Chloe said. “Don’t you want them to fix up your injuries?”

“Yes, it’s just… this is so much. I just want to go.”

“Why don’t you go to the restroom?” Chloe asked.

Sam laughed a little too loudly. “How will that help?”

“You know.” Chloe raised an eyebrow. “A change of scenery?”

“I don’t think that would help,” Sam said. “My body goes with me when I do that, so it’s not like the pain would stop. If anything, it would just prolong the agony. I do need to use the restroom, though.” She grimaced. “This is going to suck. Where is it?”

“I’m… actually not sure.” Chloe glanced around the hall. “Ask the receptionist?”

Sam walked down the hall the reception area. It took a moment for them to notice Sam standing at the back side of the area.

“Where’s the restroom?” Sam asked timidly.

“You’re here for the SANE exam?” The woman’s voice rang out so loudly that Sam flinched. “You can’t use the restroom until after your exam.”

“How long will that be?”

“I don’t know. We paged the nurse. It’ll be a few hours once she gets here.”

“Oh. Okay. I guess.”

Sam returned to Chloe... and to pacing. What did a “sane” exam even involve? She had a vague idea, but she’d never looked at the details. That involved pictures, right? Swabs? The idea curdled her stomach. Why did they have to do all of that if she wasn’t going to file a police report? What if Sam disappeared in the middle of the exam? Did they record the whole thing on video? Would she get in trouble with the AM for having a panic attack and disappearing on film?

Chloe took out her phone and tapped around on it. After a moment, she softly read aloud, “‘The head-to-toe examination... may include taking samples of blood, urine, swabs of body surface areas, and sometimes hair samples. The trained professional performing the exam may take pictures of your body to document injuries and the examination. With your permission, they may also collect items of clothing, including undergarments. Any other forms of physical evidence that are identified during the examination may be collected and packaged for analysis, such as a torn piece of the perpetrator’s clothing, a stray hair, or debris.’” She looked up at Sam. “There’s more. Do you want to read it for yourself?”

Sam shook her head. “I don’t want that. The exam. I don’t want them to do any of that. If they make me do all of that, I, I, I’ll leave. I’ll just get up and put my clothes on and leave. I can leave, right? I’m not breaking the law if I don’t report a crime to the police, right? Are they going to arrest me if I leave? What if I use the restroom even though they told me not to?”

“It says you don’t have to report it,” Chloe says. “I think you can leave if you want. But Sam, I can feel how much it’s hurting you. I think you should try to power through and get seen if you can. Maybe ask someone who works here if the forensic exam is a requirement?”

Sam went back to the reception area, this time with Chloe by her side.

“I don’t want to have the forensic exam,” Sam said. “Can I use the restroom?”

“You don’t have to prosecute, but you need to have the proper exam done in case you change your mind later.” The receptionist didn’t even look up from her chart. “It doesn’t hurt. They’ll just take some pictures, use some special brushes—”

“No. No, no, no.” Sam’s hoarse voice cracked. “I can’t take one more person scrutinizing me like a loaf of bread on the clearance rack, like I’m not even a person, like I’m a grotesque circus act, like—”

She took a shuddering breath, trying to stay present and breathe through the rising panic. The woman was staring hard over her glasses at Sam, a sharp rebuke clearly on her tongue. Sam knew she must look ridiculous: her mouth still droopy from novocaine, her face covered in bruises, her clothes drenched in nervous sweat, her eyes blackened and bloodshot, her scraped hands flailing. And now she couldn’t breathe, and she was seconds away from flickering and then disappearing, and—

“It’s okay, Sam.” Chloe put her hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Excuse me, Ma’am? My friend is hurt really badly and needs to be seen today, but she doesn’t want to do any part of the forensic exam. Can she still be treated for her injuries if she declines that, or do we need to go to a doctor’s office?”

“Oh no, of course she can decline any part of the exam. We just don’t recommend that because there’s a limited window of time you can get the SANE exam done.”

“I think we’ll be declining,” Chloe said firmly. “My friend only wants to be treated for her injuries.”

Sam nodded, relieved. Chloe glanced at her, a request for permission to share information. Sam nodded again and then sagged against the wall. Chloe leaned over the wall and lowered her voice.

“Ma’am, my friend has had pretty much the worst day imaginable. We’ve been waiting for more than an hour, and she’s in so much pain she can’t even sit comfortably. Since she doesn’t want to report what happened to her, is there any way she could see a female doctor who’s already here instead of waiting for the SANE nurse? She’s just in so much pain I’m worried she’s going to leave without getting treated if she has to keep standing in the hall.”

The woman’s face softened. “Give me five minutes,” she said.

It was only three minutes later that a nurse came and escorted the two of them to a private room with a bed and bathroom.

“Have you changed your clothes?” she asked.

“Yes, and she showered,” Chloe answered for Sam. “She’s declining any kind of evidence collection and just wants to be treated for her injuries. Oh, right, and could she please have a cup of water?”

Sometimes Chloe’s mind-reading could be a pain in the ass. But right then, Sam wouldn’t have traded it for the world. Chloe turned and gave Sam a knowing smile.

The nurse left a cup of water and a gown. Once she was gone, Chloe stood by for moral support while Sam peed and then rinsed off in the shower to avoid the torture of toilet paper.

“Um, I don’t suppose there’s a towel out there?” Sam asked.

“Nope, I don’t see one.”

“Awesome.” Sam shook water droplets off her legs. “What about a spare gown?”

“No. I can bring the top sheet in if you want, though?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Sam pulled the gown on. “I’m just going to hope I air dry on the walk to the bed.”

“That’s valid.”

Lying in the bed was a huge relief physically, but it made Sam’s anxiety shoot off the charts. She wished she was still pacing, even if her legs were on the verge of giving out.

“Do you have any idea what you want for dinner?” Chloe scooted her chair as close to Sam’s bed as she could.

“Whatever is fine,” Sam said. “I’m not hungry.”

“Still?”

Sam shook her head. She’d been hungry at lunchtime, which felt like a month ago. Mark had called as she was leaving the store to ask what color tie he should buy for their date, and they’d been so happy talking and laughing and flirting that she hadn’t stopped for food on the drive home like she’d planned. So she’d headed to the kitchen all floaty and smiling and ready to make a sandwich. Except Damien had been in her living room.

And that was where her recollection got weird. If most of her memories replayed like half-watched movies, the past few hours were an incomprehensible fan edit with too much filtering and a bad nightcore Linkin Park remix. The weirdest details were highlighted, nothing was in chronological order, and she couldn’t remember half the main plot beats, even though it had only been a few hours.

Chloe took Sam’s hand. “You don’t have to think about it right now if it’s too much. You’ll have plenty of time to process it later.”

Sam barely heard her. Damien’s words echoed through her ears: “God, I knew you were gross—why do you think I had to get drunk to even consider this plan?—but Jesus! I was not prepared for this level of disgusting.”” Disgusting, disgusting, disgusting. The nurses and receptionists had looked at her like she was disgusting. And now the doctor would be there soon to examine her and agree with them.

 _“Who cares?”_ she argued with herself. _“It’s not like we have to see the doctor ever again. As long as they take care of everything…”_

But her heart was thudding again, and her throat was constricting. She was going to lose control and travel again. But that would just prolong the pain! She couldn’t leave! She needed to stay in that stupid hospital bed! She needed to stop being anxious! But being anxious about being anxious was making her more anxious, and—

“Shhhhh.” Chloe took Sam’s clammy hand in hers and massaged it. “I’m right here. I’ll cover for you if you leave.”

“Maybe I should, maybe I should actually leave,” Sam said. “Not on a trip, just leave this hospital. I don’t want to be here. I can just schedule an appointment with my regular gynecologist tomorrow. Except I don’t have a regular gynecologist so it will probably be next week. Or next month. Next month sounds good. Except I really hurt. But maybe I’ll hurt less at home—”

“You won’t hurt less at home,” Chloe said. “We’ve already waited so long, it would be silly to leave now. Do you want to watch TV?”

“No, I want to go home. Or… not home, I guess, I don’t think I can go back there tonight, maybe not ever again, but I want to go somewhere other than here. Can I go?”

“Yeah, we’ll go soon.” Chloe smiled tensely. “Let’s see if the doctor will prescribe you the good drugs first. And antibiotics.”

Sam fell back against the pillow. Good drugs sounded nice. She hurt in places she didn’t realize could hurt. Was it possible to pull a muscle in your toe? God, she just really wanted to be home. But not the new house. Not even her old apartment, though she would have settled for that. No, what she really wanted was to be in her childhood home, with both of her parents there to take care of her. She wanted to curl up on her mom’s lap and cry into her chest, but she couldn’t, because her mom was dead, and it was all Sam’s fault, and now _this_ —

“Oh, Sam,” Chloe said.

The next thing Sam knew, Chloe was kicking off her shoes and climbing onto the hospital bed. It was a tight fit, but there was enough room for Sam to rest her head on Chloe’s chest.

“Darwin was so worried about you.” Chloe rubbed Sam’s back. “Do you think he’ll sleep with you and Mark tonight?”

“Uh, I think Mark is sleeping on the couch still. I don’t know. We didn’t talk much about it. I know that sounds bad on Valentines’ Day, but—”

“No, I totally get why it would feel safer sleeping with Joan. Wait, not... sleeping-sleeping with her,” Chloe said.

Sam tried to mirror Chloe’s smile. “I knew what you meant.”

“It’s nice Joan watched Darwin for you over the summer. He probably feels right at home in her apartment.”

“I hope so.” Sam sighed. “Chloe, what do the others think about me right now? Honestly.”

“Everyone’s really worried and protective. Joan blames herself for... not stopping it from happening, I guess. And Mark blames himself for yelling at Damien on the phone the other day? He thinks this only happened because he rejected Damien.”

“No, this was Damien’s choice.”

“I know. I agree with you. But people’s thoughts aren’t always logical. He also had some flashbacks to the AM… I know it’s not exactly the same, but if anyone in your life can relate to feeling tortured and violated, it’s probably Mark.”

“Was he… how did he react to… Was he grossed out?”

“Not by you.”

Great. So he did think what happened to her was disgusting.

“Never,” Chloe said. “Trust me, Sam. The best way to sum up Mark’s feelings for you is the heart-eye emoji.”

“I feel like if the poop emoji and the head bandage emoji had a baby,” Sam joked.

“I know.” Chloe gave her a motherly forehead kiss. “That won’t be forever, though."

They lay there in silence, and for the first time, Sam's thoughts didn't run off on their own. She practiced Joan's mindfulness exercises, trying to stay right where she was. It was definitely easier with Chloe holding onto her.

"Do you want to use my phone to watch something calming when the doctor comes in?” Chloe asked.

“Sure. Probably a better idea than trying to white-knuckle it through a panic attack.”

Chloe unlocked her phone. “Hmmm. How does ‘POV Petting a Purring Cat for 2 Hours’ sound?”

Sam finally chuckled. “You read my mind."

"I get that a lot."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The website Chloe reads from is the RAINN site: https://www.rainn.org/articles/rape-kit


	2. Joan

Mark was waiting for Sam when she got to Joan’s apartment, a drink in hand and a history documentary on the TV.

“Hey! How did it go?” he asked.

“It sucked,” Sam said. “And that’s all I feel like saying about it.”

Mark and Chloe were already talking about it telepathically; Sam could tell. She tried to ignore them and especially not to think about anything she didn’t want to. Not that it mattered. They’d already completely violated her privacy just by virtue of being who they were. And sure, it was a relief that they knew things without her having to tell her story _again_. But at the same time, was a little privacy too much to ask for?

“Sam—” Mark began, looking chagrined.

“It’s fine.” Sam grabbed his glass off the coffee table and swallowed the diluted scotch and Coke in one gulp. “Could you make me a full one of these? I hurt so badly.”

“They didn’t give you medicine?”

“Just ibuprofen. It’s not really taking the dent off.”

“Welcome to my world,” Chloe said, then, “Sorry! I didn’t mean to make it all about me. I’m really sorry you’re in pain, Sam.”

“You’re fine,” Sam assured her. “And thanks. I’m sorry we’re both in pain.”

Mark made drinks for all three of them. Sam downed hers as fast as she could, followed by the one Chloe declined. It was as much to avoid the disgusting alcohol taste as to get some pain relief into her system fast. Her “blech” expression must have looked comical, because both Mark and Chloe smiled at her.

“Joanie grabbed a bottle of wine if that’s more your style,” Mark said. “And leftovers. So many leftovers. Please eat some.”

“Sorry, I have to pass,” Chloe said. “I should really get home. My head makes driving at night a pain, and—”

“And Sam doesn’t want you to spend the night,” Mark finished for her.

“Mark!” Sam protested.

“What? We all know you were thinking it.”

“It’s okay, really,” Chloe assured Sam. “There’s not much space here, and I know it’s stressful to have one person reading your mind right now, much less two. But I probably shouldn’t drink or stay out any later than I have to.”

“Thank you so much for all your help at the hospital,” Sam said. “I’m really not trying to kick you out, I promise.”

“I know.” Chloe gave Sam a gentle hug. “Stop worrying. My feelings aren’t hurt. I just want you to get some good, healing sleep.”

With one last worried peck on the cheek, Chloe left Sam with Mark. Sam quickly busied herself looking around the living room so she didn’t have to talk about anything important with him.

“Where’s Joan?” she asked.

“She went to bed to read. I think she wanted to give us a chance to talk.”

Sam tried not to make a face. Why would she want to talk? She was completely worn out! If they talked now, she would panic and either travel or say something she’d really regret later.

“We don’t have to talk,” Mark said, but he was clearly disappointed.

“No, no. We can talk if you want to.” Sam’s heart was beating too fast again. “Just… is it anything really important? I’m not up for anything serious.”

“Okay, then. How was the dentist?”

“Fine. They bonded the tooth. It was less expensive than I was expecting.”

“And the hospital sucked?”

“It was a nightmare, even before the doctor part. I wouldn’t have made it five minutes without Chloe. I’m really glad she was with me.”

“Me too. Do you have any follow-up appointments? Anything you want me to go to with you?”

“I have a few, yeah.” Sam glanced at him in irritation. “You don’t have to go with me, though.”

“What kind of appointments are they? Wait, surgery? Possibly two surgeries?! Sam, I’m so sorry—”

Sam set her glass on the table a little too forcefully. Why was he being so goddamn nosy about her medical information? Why was he making her talk about this when she’d said she didn’t want to? Why couldn’t he just mind his own business and watch his documentary until Chloe’s ability wore off? What was the point of even having a conversation with him if he was going to just read her mind like this?

“Sorry,” Mark said. “I know you’re mad I’m reading your mind right now, and the last thing I want to do is be like _him_ and force information out of you, but—”

“Then just stop! Stop asking me questions to make me think about those things! Let me ask about what you’re watching on TV or something!”

“I’ve just been really worried about you!”

“I don’t care! I don’t want you to think about me like that!” Sam threw her coat onto a hook. “It’s humiliating enough you know what he did to me; I don’t want you to also be picturing me in stirrups, getting scraped out and sprayed with glowing dye and stitched up like the victim in some kind of horror movie! Jesus, Mark, do you want to poke the lumps where I got my tetanus booster and antibiotic shots?” She pointed to a bandage on her upper arm. “Have at it!”

“Sam, I just want to know you’re okay—”

“And I’d like just a little privacy right now! I don’t want you reading my mind, or asking me a million invasive questions, or expecting me to make you feel better right now. I can’t! I don’t have it in me tonight! I want to because I’m so anxious about, about _us_ I can hardly breathe, but I’m literally at zero percent!”

“Sam, it’s fine,” Mark soothed her. “You don’t have to do any of that. Let me take care of you. When was the last time you ate? Gah, seriously, breakfast?! Let’s fix that.”

“Don’t change the subject! For the first time, I’m not cranky just because I’m hungry—”

“I know. But what kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t feed you?” He went into the kitchen and turned on the kettle. “Man, so much for the romantic Valentine’s Day I had planned.”

“Geez, I’m sorry for ruining it.”

“No, no! I didn’t mean it like that. More like… how do you feel about hot chocolate?”

“I think you already know my feelings on hot chocolate.”

“Oh, I’m already heating up the water.” Mark came back with an entire package of cold spring rolls, just the way Sam preferred them. “I wanted to know how you wanted it. Whipped cream? Caramel? Marshmallows? Chocolate chips? Bailey’s?”

“After today? All of the above.” Sam munched on a spring roll. “Extra Bailey’s. Dammit, stop making it hard to be mad at you. Did you get all of that on the way home, too?”

“No, I had it already.” Mark glanced sheepishly over his shoulder on the way back to the kitchen. “I had this ridiculous date night planned out. It was really, um, ‘extra.’ Did I use that right?”

“Yes, I believe that _is_ how The Youth are using that term,” Sam said. “Why hot chocolate?”

“I wanted to take you out stargazing.”

“In February?”

“Hence the hot chocolate.” Mark decorated the inside of two mugs with caramel sauce. “That wasn’t all I had planned, obviously. I just thought it might be a romantic way to end the night, trying to find our old constellations.”

“That _is_ really romantic.” Sam sighed. “I’m so sorry we couldn’t do it.”

“Don’t be sorry! We can totally take a rain check. And maybe it’ll be warmer by the time you’re feeling up to it. See, totally works out.”

Sam ate all four spring rolls while waiting for her hot chocolate to be ready, then started on the noodles and chicken that replaced them. When Mark finally brought out her hot chocolate, he didn’t put it on the table in front of her, but instead carried both mugs into Joan’s bedroom.

“One hot chocolate with the works plus extra Bailey’s for my amazing, fierce, resilient girlfriend who rescued me from 1810,” Mark announced, putting one mug on the empty nightstand. “And one caramel hot chocolate with extra scotch for my favorite and weirdest big sister.”

“I had just about given hope,” Joan teased. “Thanks, Mark. And hi, Sam! How are you feeling?”

“Exhausted,” Sam replied. “Better now that Mark coaxed some food into me.”

“Ah, yes. He has growing up with me to thank for that particular boyfriend skill.”

“I think it was pretty mutual growing up,” Mark said. “But on that note, I’ll leave you two to your cocoa. I promise, no more questions, and definitely no more mind reading.”

“Thanks, Mark,” Sam said. “For everything.”

“Sleep tight!” Mark left with a wave.

Joan put her book away and stroked Darwin awake. “Look who it is,” she said.

Darwin meowed and trotted across the bed to Sam, who laid down gingerly and held her hand out. Darwin headbutted her hand and then climbed on her chest, purring and licking her chin.

“I missed you too,” Sam said. “Did you have a nice time with Joan and Mark?”

Darwin meowed again, this one turning into a little yawn.

“Aww,” Sam kissed his nose. “So cute.”

“He ran around crying when he first got here,” Joan said. “Until Mark carried him around like a baby, promising him you’d be here as soon as you could. He eventually settled in for some wet food and a new mousie.”

“You spoil him,” Sam said, but she was beaming. “Thanks for taking such good care of him.”

“Of course,” Joan said. “We were happy to spoil him a little. Did you and Mark get a chance to talk?”

“Not really.” Sam licked a bit of caramel and whipped cream from her mug. “I kind of went off on him for worrying about me. Not my best moment.”

“I’m sure he understands. You’ve had a trying day, if you’ll pardon the understatement.”

“Yeah, that’s definitely an understatement.”

“Well, it might be for the best that you save the talking for another day,” Joan said. “I can’t imagine you’re up for that kind of heavy conversation.”

“What does he want to talk about?” Sam asked. “So I don’t lose sleep being anxious about it.”

“Nothing to stress over,” Joan said. “He wants to hear your thoughts on how we should handle Damien, and whether you’d feel safer taking a break from the relationship until the aforementioned handling happens.”

“That’s easy.” Sam sipped her cocoa. “One, I want Damien shot in the face as soon as possible. Two, no way! Taking a break right now would make me feel a million times worse. I’m already nervous about Mark not…” She trailed off. “Damien was really into the idea that Mark would find me repulsive because of… There’s no _way_ I’m letting Damien win that easily. As long as Mark is on board with us staying together, I mean.”

“Mark is _very_ on board. He’s been fretting all night that you might blame him or want some distance. In addition to all his other fretting about your well-being, of course. I don’t think he would have done well at the hospital, but he was ready to deal with the flashbacks if it meant being there for you.”

“That’s sweet of him. _I_ wouldn’t have done well with him there, though. It took everything I had plus a ton from Chloe just to get through it. But it’s fine! It’s over now. I only have to go back two, maybe three more times.” Sam frowned into her mug. “Possibly four or five. But hopefully not.”

“I can accompany you to those appointments if Chloe can’t,” Joan said. “I know I’m not the ideal hand-holder, but—”

“I appreciate it,” Sam said. “I may take you up on it. I really just need someone to talk me out of getting up and leaving, apparently. And wow, there’s really a lot of Bailey’s in this.”

“Yes, mine is pretty strong, too,” Joan said. “Would you like to watch anything? I know I’m in the business of talking about feelings, but that doesn’t mean we have to if you’re tired.”

“Thanks. Is my laptop here? I could really go for an episode of Doctor Who.”

Sam barely made it ten minutes into the episode before she was dozing off. She forced herself up to go to the bathroom, where she brushed her teeth, washed her face, and made a mental note to install a bidet just like Joan’s on every toilet she owned. She crashed back into the bed and snuggled up to Darwin, ready to pass out for hours.

Except that didn’t happen. Getting up had completely given her a second wind. She rolled around in the dark for a while before Joan cleared her throat.

“Are you doing okay? Would you like me to leave the light on?”

“No,” Sam said. “Maybe.”

Joan turned her lamp on. “Do you want to meditate together? Or watch another episode of Doctor Who?”

“No, I want to do something productive. I want to go out there and find Damien and kick his ass, or go home and scrub the place from ceiling to baseboard, or sleep but in a productive way, or do research, except I don’t know what kind of research...”

“Research? You mean atypical research?” Joan asked.

“Sort of. Except the research I want doesn’t exist. I want to know myself, I want to know his abilities, I want… I want to understand why he could do that to me if he doesn’t have his ability back, or if he _does_ have his ability back, or—He definitely did _something_ to me. I don’t know what. It wasn’t his old ability, I don’t think. It was more like he’d hacked me, like he was reading my mind, except not my mind exactly. And not my feelings, like an empath. Or maybe…I don’t know.”

“Was it like he was perceiving your wants and then using them as if he was a mind-reader?”

“Yes!” Sam said. “That’s exactly what it was like!”

“I think I can actually help with this.” Joan reached under the bed and retrieved her own laptop.

“How?”

“I have extensive notes on Damien’s ability, a few saved files from the AM, and access to a wealth of peer-reviewed research on reactions during sexual assault. Maybe if we work together, we can come up with a working theory.”

“Really?” Sam sat up. “You don’t mind? I can go sit in the bathroom to work on it so you can sleep.”

Joan pushed her glasses up her nose. “Sam, if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s staying up late doing research. Besides, I’d rather be doing something productive, too.”

“Well… thanks.” Sam opened her own laptop. “Me too. Let’s do this.”


	3. Owen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's be real. This chapter is Joan 2.0, not Owen, but whatever.

Sam woke herself up shrieking. She couldn’t even remember the nightmare when she came to, just the terror she’d felt so acutely.

“Shh,” Joan was saying. “Sam, you’re safe. You’re in my apartment. You’re completely safe here, Sam.”

Mark burst through the bedroom door, a huge knife raised. “Sam?! Sam, are you okay?”

Joan turned the lamp back on, replacing the light blue outline around the curtains. “It was just a nightmare. Are you back with us, Sam?”

“Yeah. Sorry.” Sam wiped her face on her nightshirt. “I don’t even remember what I was dreaming about.”

Mark’s hand fell to his side. “Thank fuck. I thought—never mind. Sleep tight.”

He shut the door before Sam could ask him to come hold her for a minute, maybe even to lie down on her other side for the rest of the night. She thought about calling for him, but The Anxiety shushed her. He obviously didn’t want to be close to her. He just wanted to go back to sleep by himself.

“Are you all right?” Joan asked.

“Yeah. I’m really sorry, Joan.”

“Don’t be. It’s fine. Do you normally sleep on your back?”

“What?”

“A different sleeping position might help you avoid nightmares.”

“Oh!” Sam lay back down, this time on her side. “Thanks.”

It wasn’t enough, though. She really wanted the soothing weight of another person’s body against hers.

“Joan?” she whispered, in case Joan was asleep again.

“Yes, Sam?”

“Can you… would you mind… is it okay… uh…”

“What’s on your mind?”

“Could I, uh… cuddle with you?”

There were a few horrible seconds of awkward silence. Then, the sound of sheets rustling.

“Of course, Sam.”

Sam rolled over, meeting Joan in the middle, and Darwin hopped back up on the bed. Joan draped her arm over Sam’s, and that was the last Sam remembered.

 

The next time Sam woke, she was so groggy. The outline around the curtains was now a sunny yellow, and someone was pounding on Joan’s door. Sam sat up, looking around for an escape. It was Damien, it had to be. She just _knew_ he’d come to Joan’s apartment to finish what he’d started—

Mark opened the bedroom door and crept in, wrapped in his blanket. He closed the door as silently as he could and shed his comforter on the bed.

“Is it…?” Sam gesticulated wildly.

“It’s Agent Green.” Mark joined Sam under the covers.

“What?” Sam asked.

“Green. He’s here.”

“Why?”

“No idea.” Mark pulled the duvet up to his chin like Sam. “We didn’t think it was a good idea for me to be out there when he came in, though.”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

They lay there silently, eavesdropping on the conversation from the living room.

“She’s been through enough!” Joan was saying. “I’m not letting the AM interrogate her.”

“That isn’t up to you,” Owen said. “I’m trying to make this as painless as possible for her. You know how this works, Joan. If you don’t let me talk to her, Ellie will personally bring her in and force her to give her statement shackled and polygraphed while Damien is in the same room.”

Sam whimpered into Joan’s duvet. They wouldn’t, would they? She was getting dizzy from anxiety.

“We won’t let them do that,” Mark whispered fiercely. “I promise.”

Sam grabbed Mark’s hands for support. He seemed reluctant in letting her hold them, but now was definitely not the time to have that conversation.

“We know she spent the night here, Joan. Go wake her up so we can do this in your living room instead of at the AM.”

Joan huffed. There were footsteps toward the bedroom, then the door opened and closed again.

“Sam?” Joan knelt by Sam’s side of the bed. “Sam, Agent Green is here. Damien is in the AM’s custody, but Green needs to ask you some questions so they can keep him there. It’s better if you can cooperate with them for the time being. Are you up for answering some questions? I can make him wait until you’ve had some breakfast.”

“It’s fine,” Sam said. “I’d rather get it over with. Let me just brush my teeth and put on some clothes.”

Agent Green was sitting in one of Joan’s chairs when Sam walked out of the bedroom. His briefcase was open, and a recorder was already blinking red.

“May I record this meeting?” he asked.

“Do you have to?”

“Yes.”

“Who’s going to hear it?”

“Officially, it will become part of a case file, and anyone with high enough clearance at the AM will be able to access it. Unofficially, it’s very likely no one but me will listen to it, and I only plan to do that while typing up my notes. Do I have your consent to record this meeting?”

“I guess.”

“I need a yes or no answer, Ms. Barnes.”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.” Agent Green spoke toward the recorder. “This is Agent Green, ID number 46942, conducting a debriefing with Miss Samantha Barnes, the alleged victim in the sexual assault case of Subject E-307. This meeting is taking place on February 15th, around 9:30 a.m. in the living room of Asset 43.”

Sam crossed her arms. “Alleged victim”? And why was he using her real name and giving Damien a code name?

“First of all, Ms. Barnes, I just want to offer my sympathies over the events that occurred yesterday. I know you’ve been through a lot the past 24 hours, and I truly don’t want to add to that. I’ll start with the good news: our forensic techs recovered your phone from the scene.” He handed over Sam’s phone, which now bore a few dents in it. “It was under the couch and had powered off, so you may not have been able to find it.”

Sam scowled. She’d have to buy a new phone now, because no way was she trusting this one now that the AM had gotten their hands on it.

“The AM has also paid your outstanding medical bills and reimbursed you for the payments you already made.” He pushed over a few sheets of paper with a check lying on top. “Please feel free to have us billed directly for any follow-up care you receive.”

“Why?” Joan asked, her suspicion echoing Sam’s.

“Subject E—ah, Damien was under AM supervision when he committed these crimes,” Agent Green said. “We regret that this terrible situation occurred, and—”

“Cut the bullshit,” Joan snapped. “Just ask your questions.”

“Very well,” Agent Green said. “We have your medical reports and the accounts you gave yesterday, Ms. Barnes, so we won’t need an official statement for the record unless you’d like to give one. The lack of forensics exam will make things difficult for us, of course, but I think we can—”

“I’m sorry my rape is difficult for the AM,” Sam interrupted. “I’ll just go back and spend another six hours at the hospital today, why don’t I?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be insensitive,” Green said. “There’s no need for you to have another exam. Our private forensics team was able to get enough evidence from the crime scene to satisfy certain internal protocols.”

“What does that mean?”

“There’s really no need to worry about that. What we do need some help with is piecing together what happened between when Damien arrived at your home and when he left. We have a general idea, but there are some inconsistencies in your reports.”

“Are you saying I lied?”

“No, of course not. It’s just that—” Green laid three files on the table, each containing several pages that were highlighted and circled and scribbled on with different colored pens, as if a half dozen people had critiqued Sam’s words like a subpar essay. “When you arrived at the hospital at 4:32 p.m., you reported that you couldn’t remember how you sustained the strangulation-pattern bruises on your throat. However, when you had your CT scan at 9:47 p.m., you were, and I quote from the notes, ‘confident the assailant used a belt.’ Could you please tell us if that’s correct?”

Sam had already forgotten she’d been choked at all the day before. She tried to read what the reports said.

“It’s incredibly common for trauma survivors to have trouble remembering details,” Joan spoke up. “If you’re implying—”

“Sam’s integrity isn’t in question,” Green assured her. “Like I said, we’re just trying to build a watertight internal case against Damien.”

“But I declined to press charges,” Sam said. “Exactly what kind of case is the AM building?”

“I’m afraid that’s classified,” Green said. “Just know that we’re doing everything in our power to make sure Damien never hurts you or anyone else ever again. Now, could you please tell me if he used his hand or his belt?”

Sam closed her eyes and stretched her mind back to the scene. She could remember Damien’s sweat dripping into her mouth and eyes, and how scared and confused she’d been. But she couldn’t remember how he’d choked her, and it was really freaking her out. She felt herself leaving the room, but she knew, somehow, that she was in control this time.

And sure enough, when she landed in her bedroom, the scene was paused. Just like she’d paused things before, with her parents. Sam stood in the middle of her bedroom, took a deep breath, and looked up at the scene. Sheesh. It looked worse than Sam had imagined, especially in 3D. Her alarm clock showed the time was 12:19, and it was jarring to realize that her three-hour ordeal had taken, at most, _maybe_ an hour. How was that possible?

It didn’t matter. What mattered was getting back to the present before everything unpaused. There was no way she was sticking around to watch anything else.

“—remarkable!” Agent Green was saying when Sam whooshed back in. “The interviewee just disappeared. Oh! And now she’s returned. This is the Class D atypical capable of— it was space manipulation, wasn’t it Dr. Bright?”

“Yes,” Joan said grudgingly, giving Sam a worried look.

“Fascinating! Apologies, Ms. Barnes, if I made you uncomfortable. I understand your ability is sometimes triggered by panic attacks.”

“It’s fine,” Sam said. “It was his hand.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Before I left, you asked me how he choked me. He used his hand.”

“I see.” Green jotted that down. “Thank you. May I take some pictures? Just of your throat. Your face won’t really be visible.”

“I guess.”

Sam held her hair out of the way while Green photographed the bruises on her neck.

“Thank you, again,” he said. “I appreciate it. Yes, it looks like the thumb was right under your ear.” He snapped another photograph, the flash blinding Sam.

“Is that everything?” Sam asked.

“Not quite.” Green put the camera back in its case. “Now, your atypical ability is exceptionally useful for escape, isn’t it, Ms. Barnes? I believe Dr. Bright once referred to it as a ‘flight’ type ability versus a ‘fight’ one?”

Sam shrugged. “I guess.”

“Did you use your ability to try to escape from Damien?”

“Of course I did.”

“How many times?”

“I don’t know. Four or five?”

He gave her a patient smile, as if he thought she was lying. “And what happened? Why weren’t you able to escape?”

“He was waiting for me to come back. I tried to make the distance between leaving and coming back as long as possible, but I’m used to coming back just seconds later, and I couldn’t make the opposite happen.”

“And you weren’t able to gain even a few seconds’ advantage to flee?”

“Obviously not, or I would have fled.” Sam’s temper flared. “He curb-stomped me the second I got back, every time. Eventually he got… bored, I guess, and he said he would crush my nose if I did it again. I didn’t want him to do that.”

“So you complied with him?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“And your compliance was entirely out of fear of physical danger?”

“Yes! Why else would I let him do those awful things to me?!”

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to upset you. Maybe it would help to explain: we’re trying to determine whether Damien has regained his active abilities or not. Anything you can tell us would be very helpful.”

Sam glanced at Joan before speaking. “We don’t think he has his ability back. Not all of it, anyway.”

“So his coercion was purely external? You believed your life was in danger the entire time?”

“Yes! What part of this are you not hearing?! He had a gun! He threatened to kill me and my cat!”

“Ms. Barnes, I hate to be indelicate—please forgive me—but our records indicate that you climaxed at least twice during your assault, obeyed an order you believed would kill you, and then prepared a meal for Damien. In fact, you spent nearly half an hour with him after learning his gun was unloaded. Why didn’t you flee at that point?”

“How could you possibly know that?” Sam asked weakly. “Did _he_ tell you that?”

“Are you disputing that part of the file?”

Sam was shaking so hard her teeth were chattering now. She couldn’t catch her breath, and she was simultaneously too hot and too cold. Joan sat next to her on the couch, taking Sam’s sweaty hand.

“If you don’t wish to dispute those details, could you please help us understand why you did them?” Green asked.

Sam shook her head.

“Ms. Barnes, Samantha, please. I would really appreciate it if you could try. The last thing I want is to subject you to questioning at the AM.”

“Owen, enough!” Joan said. “I think you should go.”

“If I go now, I can’t guarantee Ms. Barnes’ protection from Damien _or_ other people at the AM.”

“She doesn’t need your ‘protection’! She needs to be left alone to recover from an incredibly traumatic incident you and the rest of the AM all but sanctioned! And she absolutely does not need to be revictimized by you and your stupid, ridiculous questions! If you have Damien in your custody, why don’t you just ask him?” Joan was totally fuming now. “You need to get the _fuck_ out of my home, Owen.”

Seeing Joan curse out Green was impressive enough to keep Sam from disappearing again. She took a steadying breath and squeezed Joan’s hand.

“I’m okay,” she said. “I don’t want to make things worse.”

“Sam, are you sure—?”

“Yes.” Sam took a moment to collect her thoughts. “I don’t know why I didn’t leave,” she finally said. “I guess by that point, I was in too much physical pain to move easily, and I was in so much emotional pain I didn’t care if I died, and it felt like he was almost done, and it would just be safer for Darwin—my cat—if I cooperated at that point. But we do have a theory about his ability.”

“I am all ears.”

“We think he still has some ‘passive ability’ left,” Sam said. “We think he could sense… how did you say it, Joan?”

“We think he can perceive the latent desires that define a person,” Joan said. “For lack of a better term, we’re tentatively calling it ‘want-empathy.’ Our best guess is that he used this ‘want-empathy’ to read Sam, and then he manipulated her mind through non-atypical means. He said over the phone that he’d used 'psychology and shit' to make up for his lack of active ability. I suspect he’s read up on NLP or a similar concept.”

“That’s very interesting,” Green said. “We did know about his ‘want-empathy,’ as you call it, but not the techniques he used to exploit it.”

“I trust you’ll be keeping Damien locked down indefinitely?” Joan asked.

“For as long as we can,” Green said.

“What does that mean?” Sam asked. “How long is that?”

Green sighed. “As you both know, Damien is a very powerful atypical. There may be call to...utilize him for certain situations.”

“No,” Joan said. “That’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”

“I don’t like it either,” Green said. “But it won’t be any time soon. A certain level of rehabilitation is required first. And he’d be very closely monitored, of course. He wouldn’t be allowed to contact Sam or come within 100 feet of her once released.”

“But he’ll be out running around free?” Sam asked. “How is that even possible after what he did?”

“Forgive my bluntness, but you didn’t seem to have a problem with that yesterday,” Green said. “I would have thought you would have gone to the police if that was important, but I understand you were very adamant about _not_ doing that.”

Sam jumped to her feet, her sight going hazy from sheer anger and panic.

“If you have no more questions, it’s time for you leave,” Joan said.

“Of course. And again, Ms. Barnes, I am sorry to cause so much—”

“Goodbye, Owen.”

Sam stumbled back to Joan’s bedroom. She barely managed to get inside before she felt herself on the verge of traveling.

“Sam—”

“They’re giving him a fucking job!” she hyperventilated. “They’re going to let him out and give him a job and let him run around doing whatever he wants!"

“Sam, you’re flickering.”

“Shit! Mark, I don’t want to be alone right now!”

Mark grabbed her hands, this time with no hesitation. “Just don’t leave me there,” he said.

Sam held on as tightly as she could while Joan’s bedroom dissolved around them.


	4. Mark

Sam knew where they were before she even opened her eyes to see the brilliant Mediterranean sunset mirrored by the water.

“Where is this?” Mark asked.

“Greece,” Sam said. “Well, an island close to it.”

“And... when?”

“Not sure. Usually a few hundred years ago?”

“It’s nice,” Mark said. “Beats the hell out of 1810.”

“Yeah.” Sam was still shaking too hard from her encounter with Agent Green to smile.

“What happened back there?” Mark asked.

“They’re giving Damien a job!” Sam threw her hands up. “That is _so_ typical of them. I wish Caleb had killed Damien when he’d had the chance. This is a total nightmare.”

“Wait, slow down,” Mark said. “Why are they giving Damien a job?”

“Apparently they’re so impressed by how he used his remaining ability while _raping me_ that they’re hiring him.”

“Why the fuck would they—” Mark blew out an angry breath. “Of course they are. God, I fucking hate them.” Mark clenched his fist. “I hate this whole fucking thing. I’m so sorry, Sam.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“No, but Damien only came after you because I’m dating you.”

“Yeah, well, you’re worth it.”

From the way Mark’s grip on her hand slackened, she knew he didn’t believe her.

“Mark, are you going to break up with me?” Sam asked.

“What? No! Unless you want to break up with me, I mean—”

“No! Ugh, sorry, I just… you were so, in-my-face worried last night, and then today you’ve been so distant, and I’m a little sensitive about all that stuff Damien said about you not finding me attractive anymore, and now this stuff with Agent Green… I’m a little anxious!”

“No, no, it’s not like that at all,” Mark said. “Last night, there was this underlying thought that kept saying, ‘Get Mark away from me, keep him away, I don’t want him anywhere close to me.’ So I’ve been trying to keep my distance.”

“That was only while you could read my mind,” Sam said.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, I really didn’t want you seeing and hearing every unpleasant detail of my medical treatment.”

“It wasn’t a shock or anything,” Mark assured her. “What the AM did to me—”

“—I will never know, unless you explicitly decide tell me,” Sam finished firmly. “And that’s how it should be. I would never pry into your head and steal the information from you! And I know you can’t help what you hear around Chloe, but it was wrong of you to ask me about that stuff again when you knew I didn’t want to talk or think about it.”

“I’m really sorry, Sam,” Mark said. “You’re absolutely right. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“It’s okay,” Sam said. “But that’s why I didn’t want you near me. Now, will you please just hug me?”

Mark did better than hug her. He swept her off her feet into a low dip and kissed her.

“I’m so glad we can touch here,” he said.

“A significant improvement,” Sam agreed breathlessly. “Wow.”

They settled onto the sand to watch the sunset together. Mark hugged Sam so tightly she could hardly breathe, and she wouldn’t have had it any other way. The sky slowly turned from orange to deep blue. The tide tickled their feet like a breeze right as the first stars started to twinkle in the twilight.

“I’m just so upset that it happened in my new house,” Sam said.

“What?”

“It felt really good to move into a new place where nothing bad had happened. And then two months later—”

“Right. Shit. I’m so sorry, Sam.” Mark dropped his head back against the sand.

“I’m not moving,” Sam said. “I’m thinking about getting a gun of my own. Maybe learning a martial art. Maybe hiring private atypical security guards. Definitely redecorating that entire bedroom. But dammit, I don’t want to move again!”

“That makes sense,” Mark said. “And it’s not like Damien wouldn’t be able to find your new address. Better not to have a false sense of security.”

“Exactly.” Sam snuggled into Mark. “I’m just going to cope with this like someone who’s not rich. It’s totally doable.”

“Totally,” Mark agreed.

They had another moment of silence.

“Can I ask you for a completely irrational but really helpful favor?” Sam asked.

“Anything.”

“Can you please tell me honestly if you think I’m disgusting?”

“Okay, first…” Mark kissed her cheek. “I would never think that. The kinks I saw in your brain, those are fun and mostly harmless. I’m into way weirder stuff, if it’s any comfort.”

Sam didn’t know what kind of expression was on her face, but she must have looked alarmed, because Mark quickly clarified.

“I don’t _have_ to have the way weirder stuff, I promise! But you know how it is when you fall down the porn rabbit hole…”

“I guess.”

“Anyway, the stuff Damien forced on you… it’s not that any specific thing he did to you was disgusting. It’s the way he did those things, like how much he wanted to hurt you through them.”

“You don’t have to sugarcoat it to make me feel better,” Sam said. “I know he did some pretty disgusting things to me.”

“Sam, I spent months with Damien. If you think I never thought about doing a lot of that with him, both with and without his influence... I don’t know what to tell you.”

Sam wasn’t sure what to say to that. 

“And lastly, even if you ignore everything I just said, you’re still ahead of me on ‘good person’ points.” He pushed his hair back, his hand shaking slightly as he did. “Even with the least charitable interpretation of the thoughts I overheard, I don’t think anyone could argue you hurt another person. And I did. At the AM, I… the things I did… and I wasn’t even in severe pain most of the time!”

“You don’t have to talk about it.” Sam took his hand, glad to find it as clammy as her own.

“I know, but it’s not fair that I know everything in your traumatic backstory and you only know a fraction of mine.”

Sam rested her head on his shoulder, trying to figure out how to word her feelings. “That’s really sweet of you, Mark,” she said at last. “And I’ll probably take you up on that someday. But right now, I don’t think I can handle it. Can we just watch the sunset? And then stargaze for a while?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Sam yawned and let her head droop onto Mark. She was asleep before the last bit of orange left the sky. There was still a lot to deal with when they got back, but for now, she was just glad to be with Mark in the one place Damien would _never_ be able to find her.


End file.
